


Our Hobbit, From The Jaws of Hell

by smileybagel



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: AU, Kidnapping, M/M, Mentions of Rape, mentions of torture, this might just be pre-slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileybagel/pseuds/smileybagel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted by kris126 on tumblr, a fic in which Bilbo is used as bait by the Pale Orc to lure Thorin to his (potential) death. Set after Bilbo protects Thorin from decapitation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If there are any errors, feel free to point them out to me.  
> Also beware, this is my first Hobbit/LotR fic.

He didn't know what possessed him to run forward and barrel into that nasty orc fellow, sword drawn and blood rushing through his veins like fire. Maybe it was the Dwarf Prince's comments, the ones about him being useless and nothing but baggage and a burden. He was certainaly Bilbo  _Baggins_  from  _Bag End_ , but that did not make him _baggage_ , thank you very much! 

So maybe that was why. Maybe that was the reason for the rage and adreneline and pure  _strength_  that flowed into every fiber of his being in that moment, right before the brute had a chance to behead the prince. Bilbo could certainly feel all those things as he plunged his sword, so sharp and light and deadly, into the orc's chest. He really didn't have time to do much more before pain shot through him like thousands of burning needles. Bilbo screamed and flailed, the pain only worsening as whoever it was hoisted him into the air. 

Far above the safety of Earth and surrounded by the sound of roaring blazes and concerned shouts from the Dwarven company, Bilbo hissed and managed to wrench his eyes open, at once seeing just what exactly was breathing the most foul odor into his face. The enraged eyes of Azog the Pale Orc, stared back at him, narrowed in slight confusion and such anger that Bilbo thought to shrink away before another jostling movement reminded him on the pain in his back. Which now, he knew to be the points of the orc's hook digging into his flesh, seeing as Azog's still attached hand was ever tangled in the mane of the beast he rode.

"What creature dares interfere with my prize?" The direction of the orc's breath reversed as he sniffed Bilbo heavily, leaning in close to do so.

"No dwarf or human smells like you. Are you even worth killing?"

Bilbo struggled for words to come, craning his neck as much as possible to the dwarves and wizard still clinging to the tree, pleading with them as they worked along the trunk, making way for solid land again. Distantly, he thought he heard screeches of an eagle, but it was probably just his pain-addled mind's illusion. 

"B-Bilbo Baggins of-of Bag End and n-no, not worth killing in the slightest! No p-prizes to be won from that, not even satisfaction!" Stall, stall,  _stall!_  At least until the others can help, Bilbo thought. Just like with the trolls. The only downside of course, was this orc's nonexistant aversion to sunlight and increased intelligence. Oh, what was a Hobbit to do?

"Baggins of Bag End? Like that's supposed to mean anything to me. Though...you could provide some use, little gnome." The squirming and panting Hobbit did not want to think about  _any_  of his possible uses, not in the least. Any further thought was immediately silenced by screeches of might winged beasts and the yells and bellows of the dwarves. Bilbo hardly had the time to look up as the hook in his back was dislodged and he was dropped onto the mangy body of the albino warg, it's rider howling at the state his warriors were now in. 

The little Hobbit, with as much strength as he had left for by now the pain was making him woozy, chanced a look over the head of the great beast he was now upon and stifled a gasp. There in the skies were eagles, far larger than he had ever seen before, plucking dwarf and orc alike and dropping them off the side of the cliff. At last, just when a muttered 'no' left his lips and before cool unconciousness hit him, he saw the giant talons of one feathered creature pick up the body of Thorin. His shield of bark fell as he was taken higher and Bilbo flinched when it hit the ground, his eyes following it until they closed in exhaustion.

 ---

It's a sweet breath of life that first entered his lungs, his eyes fluttering open and staring at the Grey wizard, questions on his lips but silenced with a groan as his wounds made themselves known. His dwarves, ever loyal to their royalty, gathered around him and helped to sit him up, Fili and Kili eventually helping him to stand before he staggered over to Gandalf. 

The old wizard was gazing far from their point on a mountain plateau at the peak of  their destination, the Lonely Mountain. Their path was covered by dense layers of cloud and fog, illuminated gently by th rising sun. Thorin, a bit out of breath but otherwise fine, clapped Gandalf on the back before returning both hands to his sides.

"I wish to know what happened. Why has my life been given back to me?" 

"Your life was never  _taken_ , my dear Thorin. It was however,  _spared_. By one who you deemed lost and worthless, no less. But now look, your halls of gold and our dragon lay just yonder." Thorin did look and there was no doubt in his mind, no denial of the flip his stomach did at the thought of  _home_ , but the word itself brought much more to his thoughts.

"Spared by whom?" A quick look to his company revealed no lost men and none who stepped up to take up the title of his savior, except... "Where is the Hobbit?" A slight dose of panic may have laced his tone, but only because Gandalf seemed awfully attached to the poor creature.

"Gone," said Gandalf, stroking his beard. "Taken by Azog for killing your would-be executioner and preventing him from claiming your head."

It was like someone had just doused him with water from the coldest stream. Shock ran though his system and Thorin just barely kept himself from stuttering in complete surprise, unable to fully grasp the concept of the greehorn Hobbit saving him.

"You're sure it was him? Who all saw this?" He turned to his fellows, eyebrows furrowed and despair curling in his stomach along with guilt. His men all looked at eachother, waiting for one to speak. Bofur stepped forward and Thorin briefly remembered him conversing with Bilbo before the man wandered further into the mounatin, alone.

"We all did, Thorin. Not a single soul here didn't see Master Baggins' feat of bravery, save for you, of course. Out like a light, you were." The others murmured and shouted their aggrement, Gandalf too, though the wizard nodded without need of speech. Guilt wormed it way further into Thorin's heart, his words prior to the skirmish now so harsh and cruel and...and utterly  _wrong_. Gandalf must have sensed his relevation and smiled in that secretive way of his, gesturing to the dragon-kept peak of the old dwarven kingdom.

"Durin's Day is not far off, though we might have time for one last detour...That is, unless you believe our burglar still has no place in this company?"

Thorin was silent for some time, the dwarves shifting and trading looks of aprehension between them as their leader and prince thought on his choices. They would rather retrieve the Hobbit, but the final decision was not their's to make. Finally, Thorin held up a hand to cal their attention. When he turned towards them, his eyes were burning like the fire from the belly of Smaug and they at once knew his purpose.

"We reclaim our Hobbit first, then and  _only then,_  do we reclaim our home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for rape and torture.
> 
> I seriously had Misty Mountains on repeat while writing this.  
> Also I am keeping this as a two part fic that is most definitely pre-slash. If anyone wants to continue it past this point, be my guest. Just let me know beforehand, alright?

Thorin Oakenshield's Company of thirteen dwarves, one wizard, and one hobbit, currently missing, did not travel until the light of the moon shown bright. The leader of the company would have rather gone sooner, but he knew his men had wounds to lick and bellies to fill, himself included. Their delayed travel allowed those in better health to scout ahead on orders from Thorin to find tracts left by the surviving orcs, knowing that they would set up their own camp in a cave not too far off. As luck would have it, his dwarves found traces of a campfire with embers still burning just beyond their own encampment. With this news, Thorin ordered his men to pack up and finish their meals on the way to their enemy. He was met with nods and grumbles of agreement and they left, a sense of urgency in every step.

Their once moderate pace was quickened to a half run, Thorin's gut telling him it would be best to make haste. The thought of the hobbit being in the claws of Azog made his stomach churn but he brushed it aside as pity for the poor creature, maybe a sense of regret for not being able to pay his life debt to Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, but only that and nothing more.

By the light of the midnight moon they saw them, the foul abomniations of darkness. The dwarves, weapons drawn and ready to leap, were perched on a cliff only so many feet above the group of warg-riders, who were traveling at a leisurely pace. 

The prince held a hand out to stay his men and warned them to quiet their tongues as he knelt down and listened to the growls of the orcs. Almost alien was their speech, making it difficult to hear what atrocities they spoke of. When Thorin was able to make out snippets of conversation, most of it stemming from the pale orc, he felt his stomach drop.

"They have him," he murmured to his men. Thorin strained his eyes and focused on Azog, noticing for the first time the little hobbit that was laying across his lap, passed out from what the dwarf did not know. "He lays upon the white beast."

 ---

Bilbo was awoken by a foul odor, one that was worse than all the rotten food in the world. He blinked open his eyes and stifled a scream as he saw several orcs leering at him from above. The halfing shot up and backed away as far as he could, his back hitting cold stone as he pulled his legs close to him. 

"W-what do you want?" He was answered with cackles and snorts from the orcs and a decent amount of disgusted sneering. Bilbo hastily searched his person, hoping to find his elvish blade still tucked away behind his coat but to no avail. A quick pat at his pocket revealed that the gold ring he had found was still safe with him and he breathed a sigh of relief, though he wasn't quite sure why he was so attached to the thing.

The orcs poked at him with their blades and laughed some more, only stopping when their giant of a commander roughly shoved them aside. One orc, small in comparison to the others, was slammed back against a rock and did not stir as he hit the ground. Bilbo gulped, very worried for his safety.

"You stole my dwarf." His voice was like gravel on steel, a rather unpleasant sound to the hobbit's ears and it grated on his nerves, a slight shiver running through Bilbo's body. "I think it only right to steal something of yours now." The orc knelt down in front of him and in a movement much too kind and caring to be true, ran a finger down the hobbit's cheek to his neck. His index finger stopped at the bobbing adam's apple and pressed hard, making it difficult to breathe for the halfing at his mercy.

"Keep watch for this one's friends. An ambush now would only be ill-timed." A chorus of affrimative grunts came from his underlings but Bilbo paid them little attention. Instead, he was intently focused on the wandering hand of the pale orc above him and the almost carnal look of hunger in his eyes. He might have been a secluded Hobbit without a speck of knowledge of the outside world, but he knew lust when he saw it. Panic spread throughout his person and he tried to jump away, only succeeding in knocking his head against the rock behind him. Pain erupted from the spot and his wound from the orc's hook revealed itself once more from the impact as well.

"Will you allow to me partake without trouble or must I work for my meat?" Azog's answer was a well aimed shot of saliva to his face, the fluid dripping slowly down his face. He paid it no mind and grinned, the sharp points of teeth showing through his thin lips and Bilbo nearly screamed in that moment. The orc's hook was then buried into his side and the hobbit didn't bother to hold back his voice. Azog pulled him close and carded his hand through Bilbo's hair, not minding the struggling and pained whimpers on the halfing beneath him.

"Please....A-anything else, anything! Please....anything but that. I-I can't!" The once gentle fingers in his hair clutched and yanked his head back, nearly breaking his neck in the process. Azog leered at him, his tongue running along his lips.

"You can and you will, gnome."

"P-Plea-!" Two thick fingers were shoved into his mouth as razor-like teeth attacked his neck. He couldn't scream, he couldn't move, Bilbo Baggins couldn't do much of anything.

The day went on and on, filled with pain and the hot feeling of shame that settled within his heart and mind. The orcs with them watched and cheered, encouraging their leader to do more,  _go faster, harder, break the thing in two!_ they shouted at the pair. Hours passed and the act continued as Bilbo was breeched time and time again, defiled in every way imaginable. Eventually, Azog tired and left the hobbit to his men. They showed the same amount of mercy their leader did, taking him without remorse.

On his knees they pulled him, scalp sore and aching from his hair constantly being pulled, his lips chapped and sliced and burning from the fluids spilled onto his face. But of course, that was nothing to say of the pain that shot up his back. He thought he would go numb after being taken so many times, but the searing, blisterng pain only worsened with each new partner. The orcs varied greatly and those too small to do much damage switched to his front and made him gag on their essence.

Finally, relief was granted to Bilbo as Azog called off his warriors. They left the halfing half nude, his clothing torn in numerous places, and on his kness with his face pressed against the ground. Bilbo panted, only half aware of what was going on. The fear he once felt was gone and replaced with hopelessness and exhaustion, imagining that the chance of salvation was long gone. No help was coming, not from the dwarven company nor any others. Hope was indeed lost.

At once, Azog lifted him by the tender roots of his hair and slapped him hard, blood dribbling from his lips. The pain barely registered.

It went on, the physical abuse. By the time the third hit was dealt, Bilbo had passed out from pain once again. He didn't even feel the burning of his flesh as the pale orc branded him with this hook. The mark reeked of flesh and blood and was right below Bilbo's navel. The surrounding orcs snorted and cackled some more, calling for travel as the sun set.

 ---

The hobbit twitched in his sleep, groaning and biting his lip, all at once assaulted with aches and pains as his mind came to consciousness. A leather hide was draped over him and coarse fur was below him, heated rediating from the mount he was currenty perched on. His movements alerted the orc controlling the beast but Bilbo feigned sleep, making his moving seem like the shifting of one with night terrors.

His act wasn't necessary for long before the hobbit heard the mismatched cries of his comrades. The warg his layed upon growled and moved frantically, its rider turning it around to face his foes. Steel clashed with steel, iron with iron and the sweet song of arrows whizzing past filled the air. Azog yelled something in his foreign tongue and soon Bilbo was shoved off of the warg and left by the base of the small cliff that had arrived at.

The halfing fought to keep his eyes open at this point, lazily watching the battle before him. Many of the orcs were slain or mortally wounded, no doubt in Bilbo's mind that they would die by the next sun. His eyes searched the battlefield for every one of his companions, easing his mind with the knowledge that they all surived the previous battle, including Thorin. A strange panic flooded him at the thought of the prince. Would he deem the hobbit foul and disgusting if he knew what had transpired with the orcs? Would he think him even more useless than before now that he was most certainly a libability? 

Bilblo groaned once more, letting his eyes close as he leaned his head back. The hide that was covering him was thrown by his side, so he used that to cover up what he could. Surprisingly, his sword tumbled out from the hide as he moved it. With that in mind, Bilbo continued to hide his nakedness. His trousers were soiled and left on the floor of their previous settlement, his vest and shirt torn but other wise wearable, if you ignore the heavy stains of fluids and juices that reeked like the dead.

He turned his attention back to the violence in front of him and watched as more orcs were slain. Their mounts too fell in yowling heaps and littered the ground. Bilbo's eyes wandered and finally settled on the dark figure of the dwarven prince, his sword buried hilt-deep in the chest of an orc. Somehow, the prince must have felt something gazing at him and turned in Bilbo's direction. Their eyes met despite the darkness and the hobbit could see fire in his eyes. Something had awakened a different level of bloodlust in the dwarf. Bilbo looked away, ashamed. His debauchery was most likely visible for all to see. The fire, his thought, the passion and anger in Thorin's gaze must be from disgust. 

In his musings, he did not see Thorin challenge Azog once more. Nor did he see Thorin claim Azog's life, slicing the bald head off of white shoulders and impaling the skull with his sword. He missed the sinking of Thorin's shoulders as revenge was carried out and the orc that eluded his grasp finally felled.

When Bilbo's gaze returned, he saw the body of his defiler motionless at Thorin's feet. A smile, the first one in what seemed like eons, graced his lips. At least something good came out of this, he thought. Sleep overtook him soon after.

 ---

If anyone figured out why the hobbit was in the state he was, none said a word. They cleaned and clothed him, passing food through his abused lips in the rare moments of lucidity he clung to. The company came upon a town and gathered what money they could through odd jobs and bought horses and ponies and fresh foods and drink. That night, they set off once more. Thorin led the group as usual, though Gandlaf was at his side this time, ever watchful of the dwarf and his charge.

The young hobbit slept for two more nights, all the time kept warm and safe by Thorin. The prince kept an arm around him as they rode, the halfing seated in front of him on the horse and resting against his back. At night he held the hobbit close, never letting him out of his sight even when it was his turn to take watch.

Had any of the company thought this behavior strange, they kept it to themselves.

Thorin was grateful for such reactions, even more so when Bilbo finally awoke. He didn't press the halfing for answers and gave him space when asked, not wanting to break the man any further. It was a long road to recovery, one that Thorin felt entirely responsible for. 

If Bilbo drifted closer to Thorin throughout the rest of their journey, only smiles and nods of encouragement were passed around the company.


End file.
